When I was in my early teens, I had a recurring dream of being chased by Nazis and dogs in the snow. The first few times I assumed that the dream was due to extensive exposure to the Holocaust in my Jewish history classes, as well as at home. But eventually I wondered if I was dreaming about my great grandmother who had been exterminated in Auschwitz. I was interested in Psychology and when I learned about Jung’s theory of the “collective unconscious,” which states that a collective and universal psychic system exists (besides our personal reservoir of experience) that is inherited, I wondered if perhaps my great grandmother was reaching out to me through my dream – through time – to remind me of my heritage at a time when I must have needed it.

A dream with a similar theme has emerged in the last year. While I was dating my non-Jewish ex-cub (after a long marriage to a Jewish dude), I dreamed that I was running through the airport (I know, sounds like I’m always running…hmm…) to catch a flight to Israel, as the gate was closing. I missed the flight each and every time. I assumed this dream meant that I missed my relatives in Israel, or that I was trying to get to the place that for me feels the most like “home.” But then when I dreamed that I had lost my passport and was therefore forbidden to board the plane, I realized there was more to it. I shared this dream with my wise brother-in-law, who said that my passport represents my Jewish identity, and that I’ve misplaced it. “Do you know who has your passport, Cougel?” he asked me. “No! Can’t you just tell me?” I begged. But he shook his head and smiled knowingly. The mystery was for me to unravel, and me alone.

Since my cub and I broke up and I’ve started opening myself up to dating men with a similar background (and religion) as me, the dream has ceased. So does that mean that I’ve located my passport? Well, when I decided to rummage through my things to make sure, I found my actual passport in a box labeled “random shit” that happened to contain a picture of me on my 31st birthday, with my ex-husband on the day we got our puppy. Oooh!! How telling! Or, not. It actually confused me more. I hoped that perhaps my next series of dreams would provide me with more clues.

No such luck. Instead, the new dreams are about reuniting with my ex-husband, whom I am not in contact with. His ghost is visiting me almost every night, and I’d love to find an ex-corsist whom can banish him from my psyche and grant me rest. The dreams are a mix of sadness and joy over our reconnecting; we are crying and laughing and happy to see each other. But in last night’s dream there was broken glass on the floor. What’s that mean? Does that symbolize the breaking of the glass under the chuppah? Could it be that obvious? These dreams are pissing me off in their relentlessness. I have a hunch that they’re related to the culmination and end of my novel writing process, which I began back when we separated. There is no obvious metaphor there, but my gut knows the two are linked. I’m sure some readers (dudes) out there are rolling their eyes reading this and thinking, “Dreams (or is it psychics?) are for women and fools.” To which I reply, well, duh. I’m a woman…who feels foolish for being unable to hush up my dreams or unlock their meaning. But I’d be more of a fool to ignore their persistent recurrences, wouldn’t I? There’s obviously something in my waking life that I’m supposed to do, change, or at the very least, acknowledge.

When I figure out what that is, I’ll let you know. Or maybe I’ll know more in the morning, after I dream some more. Night night.